


You Are My Freedom (Eruri Week 2014)

by SeriousMelAM



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Drabble, Eruri Week, Eruri Week 2014, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:52:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3126815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeriousMelAM/pseuds/SeriousMelAM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My collection of Eruri week 2014 prompt responses.</p><p> </p><p>Levi prefers not to dwell in the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Merely A Man Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Very short, but I'm also very behind. Enjoy.

Memory is filth and cold and blood. He does not think of the past with any reverence, there is no fondness in nostalgia for him. He prefers to live in the present, in days fighting against oblivion, in the open under clear skies. And even more than that he prefers the present of the cunning behind deep blue eyes and the feeling of strong hands on his body.

Erwin Smith is his present, both as its architect and its primary locus. His very being is purpose and life. The trajectory of nearly every thought turning back to him. At his side yesterday, and all of its sorrow, are banished. He is human under Erwin’s touch. Present. Grounded. Merely a man alive.


	2. Like a Thousand Drops of Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erwin is not kind to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Covering prompts Sacrifice and Separation/Distance.

Yes, the bed was hard and a foot too short for Erwin, but compared to the cell in which he had spent the last few nights it was the closest thing to heaven he could imagine himself ever experiencing. By all rights he should have been out cold the moment he lay down. And yet he could not achieve the blissful quiet of sleep.

Everytime he closed his eyes a single thought would slither into his mind and he would find himself staring at the moon dappled ceiling. 

Where is Levi?

It felt like an eternity since he had last seen Levi, and now with the false government disposed and still no word from him or his squad the smallest threads of worry were threatening their way under his sense of composure.

He shook his head. No news was not necessarily bad news. Levi was more than capable of taking care of himself, and he had tasks to accomplish.

Erwin closed his eyes and exhaled forcefully through his nose, willing himself to fall asleep.

And what if something has happened to him? You never did learn what happened to Mike. Is Levi any different?

Well yes, Erwin reasoned. Mike was my friend, but Levi I...care for— 

Love. You love Levi.

Was there really any point in arguing with himself on that point? Yes, he loved Levi. Though it had only really been within the last year that he had come to realize that he did.

The other voice in his mind returned, taking on a much crueler tone.

What happened to offering your heart up for humanity? What happened to the vital importance of sacrifice?

Erwin’s eyes opened wide and he stared up at the ceiling, at the dancing pattern of shadow and moonlight. For a long moment his shoulder ached and pain radiated up from the still tender, pink flesh of the stump and into the muscles of his flank and neck.

He gritted his teeth and waited for the pain to pass before silently insisting, I am not above sacrifice.


	3. Silent Spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their rooms, their possessions. Things that wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for the prompt Home/Domestic. To say the least, I'm not big on AUs. So here is my spin on the domesticity of Erwin and Levi.

A battered carriage clock ticks in a silent room as minutes slip into the past unwitnessed. No air moves in the room to disturb the papers piled haphazardly on the desk nor ruffle the maps pinned on the walls.

An empty tea cup stands silent sentinel on the corner of the desk. Beside it a chair, equally empty, gathers dust that its last occupant would frown on.

The walls and floors hold no echoes of their voices. The boards can tell no tales of late night rendezvous. Their caresses and kisses have not imbued the wood with their essence. 

They are far away, embroiled in uncertainty and danger. One does not know the other’s location. One does not know if the other yet lives.

The room does not know either, nor does the cup, nor the clock, nor the chair. The place does not miss them, does not yearn to hear their voices. Does not ask the hall if it has heard any news. The place and things merely wait, and will welcome them back when they come. If they come.


End file.
